


sunshine (true love bites)

by feux, mvni



Category: My Chemical Romance
Genre: Frerard, Human/Vampire Relationship, M/M, Vampires
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-16
Updated: 2020-09-30
Packaged: 2021-03-07 01:02:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 7
Words: 10,202
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26488378
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/feux/pseuds/feux, https://archiveofourown.org/users/mvni/pseuds/mvni
Summary: little tales of a summer full of fangs, blood and a little bit of love.
Relationships: Frank Iero/Gerard Way
Comments: 13
Kudos: 30





	1. baby, you're a haunted house

**Author's Note:**

> soooo, we're both writing and each one of us is assigned to g or f's point of view. also, english is our second language, we goof around too much and mistakes will happen. be gay do crimes.

there was a house in the middle of the city. 

no one knew the owner, but it has been standing there for at least three centuries. it is a really old building, with holes everywhere and time has certainly taken its tool on the structure. 

there was also a graveyard right behind it. the graves were so old only a few of them were standing. no name could be read. people say it's haunted. 

and it is, in fact. haunted by frank's terrible skate tricks. he was too ashamed to perform worse than a ten year old, so training on the skate park was not a viable option. heck, he could even arrange the graves to form some sort of ramp. no one will ever know, as no one visits this cemetery anymore.

he didn’t wanna get arrested for trespassing though, so he only comes at night. this was one of those nights.

frank was trying hard to ace this heelflip, so he bought lots of energy drinks to stay up all night. the plan was to leave before midnight, but he didn’t care about checking the clock. or the sky. or his mom’s 26 missed calls. 

the idea of learning how to skate came from nowhere and frank spent a little too much on equipement. being able to stand still on the skateboard was already something big. 

after flying to the other side of the graveyard, he felt a shiver down his spine. almost like someone was watching him. but it wasn’t possible, right? frank was by himself. 

the feeling didn’t stop and he started to be scared, in a big boy way. his ideas are not the best, right, but the house was empty and there was no door. it isn’t trespassing if there’s nothing to stop you.

he decided to check the perimeter before going inside, and thank god he did. everything was so old and beaten up, but in a weirdly beautiful way. the garden was out of control but the flowers were still there, growing despite such dead surroundings. there was no front door, only lose wood and old metal by the floor. the windows were fogged by dust — everything was. and it smelled like mud. really old mud. not the pleasant old smell from a thrift store.

right where it seemed to be the laundry room, he saw the shadow of a woman. she wasn’t old and was folding clothes. but he could see through her.

upon further inspection (three minutes with his face on the window), frank saw a pattern. it was almost like a pre-recorded video, replaying over and over again. 

but something was definitely moving. and he screamed like a little boy. 

  
  


* * *

Gerard liked to think he was used to all the creepy sounds his house used to make. The wind going through an old chimney, the rusted pipes settling and the wooden doors creaking by themselves. Everything there was older than most things in that small middle-of-nowhere town, he couldn’t exactly expect it to be silent.

It didn’t make it less uncomfortable, though. He would shelter himself in his bedroom and leave only when he couldn’t bear the thirst anymore. Every other second of his days were spent in the dark, with a candle or a lantern and some old book he’d read a thousand times before. He didn’t even look through windows, or made the small trip between his room and the library — seeing the house empty and decaying scared him. Made him wonder if he was decaying too. 

He was familiar with every little sound, even the quiet footsteps from the stray cats that liked to sleep in the furniture and whatever it was the boys from the neighbourhood were using to ruin the porch this time. So, it isn’t really a stretch to say that, when he heard a high pitched scream right outside his bedroom wall, he almost died. Again.

There was someone screaming. Inside the house. Cursing like an old sailor whose mum was a ramp. Gerard never, in his more than two hundred years of life, knew someone with such colorful vocabulary. It scared him a little, to be honest; nobody sane would go in the haunted Way mansion. 

He got out of his chamber through a hole in the boarded door and made his way into the laundry room, ready to make his scariest vampire face and send whoever was there running for their life. Gerard saw him as soon as he entered the laundry room, and his unbeating heart skipped a beat: Shaggy, long-ish black hair and a t-shirt and some God forsaken thing on his hand, the boy in front of him looked like a painting. A weird, out of place painting in the middle of an overgrown abandoned house, but beautiful nonetheless. Some part of Gerard considered running, hiding some place dark and waiting for the boy to go away and leave him alone to roll around in his own misery, but in the process between thinking and moving, the boy saw him. 

“What are you doing here?” He asked, as if he owned the place. Gerard wasn’t processing this fast enough, it’s been ages since he bothered to talk to anyone. 

“Well, I can ask the same of you.” Gerard crossed his arms around his chest, like he was trying to shield his heart. It was an old habit, and one his parents really hated, at that. “I live here.”

The boy laughed. It was a pretty sound, like bells or a violin. Sounded like what Gerard imagined stars would if they made any noise. 

“Nobody lives here, dude.” There was still laughter in his voice, he sounded so alive Gerard felt it in his bones. “Not even hobos, everyone’s scared of the Way's old place. They say it’s haunted.”

Gerard moved a little too fast, as to be in direct contact with the light coming through the cracked roof, and put out his fangs. “Maybe it is.” he hissed. “Maybe you should be scared.”

The boy smiled. “Well, I’m not afraid of ghosts.” 

That caught him off guard. He could feel his face falling and his mouth opening and there was nothing he could do to recompose himself right now. _He_ was scared of ghosts, and he was almost one himself. 

“Dude, are you okay? You look kinda pale.” The boy said, and got a little bit closer. Just enough for Gerard to smell the fresh blood and perfume and sweat on his skin. His throat closed a little, and his thirst was almost unbearable.

It was then he saw, on the boys right leg, a hole the size of his hand, dripping blood everywhere. It took every ounce of self control for him not just suck the boy dry right then and there.

“You’re bleeding all over my carpet.” Gerard tried not to breathe, he didn’t really need it, but it was kind of instinctual. Some human habits were hard to lose.

“Yeah, I can almost see it through all the mud and mold and whatever that thing is.” He pointed with his chin to some old stain. Gerard couldn’t help but giggle at that, totally ruining his very scary vampire face. “I’m Frank, by the way.”

“Gerard Arthur Way, pleased to make your acquaintance.” Frank nodded. Gerard tried to think of something else to say, something that would make him look less creepy, something that didn’t take a lot of air, and would make Frank stay.

But he could see, behind the pretty boy bleeding over his ruined carpet, the sun starting to rise. He must’ve made some sort of horrified face, because the boy turned around to see what alarmed him. “Shit, the sun’s already rising? The old lady’s gonna murder me if she wakes up and i’m not there.”

“Farewell, then.” Gerard managed to say, choking a little bit from the blood and the sunlight starting to creep inside. The boy — Frank, Gerard reminded himself. — smiled and turned around to leave. “See you around, man.”

Gerard sprinted to his room, not bothering if the boy would see him and be so mortified as to never come back. He tucked himself violently under the heavy curtains and linens of his bed and tried his hardest to fall asleep, to take Frank out of his head.

And, that morning, he dreamt of him. 


	2. same old house, new leg injury

the smartest idea after yesterday’s incident would be to find another place to perfect his skills, but frank isn’t exactly known for being smart. the graveyard was just too peaceful and a weird guy like gerard wouldn’t drive him away. and also, there were no ten year olds with their sick skils mocking him because he can’t flip. he’ll flip their faces inside out. 

but he still fears for his life, so he came in the afternoon, right after lunch, just to make sure. it was kind of hard to focus and not go inside the house again. like, really hard. frank was curious, he wanted to know more about gerard, about the house and how the fuck it could be so decayed if there was someone living there. none of that made sense. 

the garden was just around the corner, and frank’s head was pretty much empty. he wanted to explore, and so he did. frank is no botanist, but the flowers seemed old. not dead or anything, just really old plants whose roots have been in the same soil for ages. the ground was covered in dead leaves, bird poop and seed, with vines all over the place. even though it wouldn’t win any magazine contest, frank felt some sort of peace in this fateful garden. but he didn’t find anything important there. 

the inside of the house wasn’t much better. the hallway was a mess. holes everywhere, mud everywhere, there was a chandelier barely hanging from the ceiling and a coat rack on the corner, with nothing on it. 

frank traced a mental map of the first floor: it had a big kitchen, a living room full of windows, a cavernous dining room and the forbidden laundry room, where he will never set foot ever again. 

the kitchen was old. everything else was, but especially the kitchen. the stove was made of metal, it was one of those antique wood oven that could also work by coal and polluted the air like an old smoker whose lungs would forever be black. the silverware was actually made of silver, he noticed. they were heavier than expected and really, really dirty. the whole kitchen smelled like old coal, like a chimney that has never been cleaned. 

the dining room was impressive, there was a cupboard with all kinds of expensive pottery by the wall, most of them broken by time. the table was huge, made out of solid wood, with eight matching chairs covered with purple velvet and a candlestick with many spider webs, but no candles whatsoever. 

the living room was just as expected. the windows were full of holes that made it easier for animals to crawl in. he’s pretty sure a cat gave birth on those old, once-white sheets. the furniture was mostly destroyed by the rain that came through holes on the ceiling. there was piles of old books shredded everywhere and an old, beautiful piano. frank tried to strum the keys, but no sound was made. it was broken, just like everything else. the tapestry would’ve been amazing, if it wasn’t so dirty. all the paintings were teared. 

the first floor had only one staircase left, and frank wasn’t so confident on using it. the wood was most definitely rotten and not safe at all. wouldn’t it be crazy if they collapsed when he stepped in and he died there, trapped underneath ages of rotten wood?

it didn’t happen though, he made to the second floor safely. 

as he was quickly able to see, there were only bedrooms and bathrooms on the second floor. 

the bathrooms were, unsurprisingly, also old. like, really, really old. the bathtubs were so rusty he would certainly get tetanus if he tried to take a bath in them. all the mirrors were dusted, it was impossible to see anything. frank doubted the sink worked, and didn’t wanna test them and end up flooding the house.

the bedrooms were all similar to one another, and it creeped frank out. everything kind of stinks of rotten cotton and mold from the outdated bedding and there wasn’t a surface in any of the bedrooms that weren't covered in holes. after all this time, there wasn’t a single thing out of place, like someone has been tidying it up to preserve the memories. or, like someone wasn’t touching anything, scared of the ghosts of the past.

the door in one of the rooms was boarded up, like they were trying to keep intruders (like frank) from entering them. the wood was dark and rather rotten, but sturdy enough that he couldn’t break it down. there was hole in it, but it was too far up for frank to reach. whatever, he didn’t wanna see it anyway.

but also, there was a library. frank wasn’t expecting that at all. it was, by far, the room where time has affected the most. surprisingly humid, full of plants and vines covering the walls and the shelves making everything just so green it was almost unreal, a jungle full of shelves and shelves of vegetation and books rotting before his very eyes. he didn’t care a lot about literature, but something about those books, whose language was too complicated for his dumb brain and their covers turning green because of time, left a bittersweet taste in his mouth.

maybe he should try not to touch anything. maybe he should just head back, but he had the urge to feel it. it was like the past and present were intertwined between his fingers, he never felt something like that before. he was so caught up on the trance he didn’t notice the shelf pending and quite literally falling on top of him.

“oh no. fuck that. holy shit.”

that was it. frank would never be found because no one else is stupid to enter the house, let alone go to the second floor. his phone had no signal, and his mom will never know what happened and kali will never get the belly rubs she adores. frank could feel his leg bleeding, again. he would die beneath rotten wood and mudded books. his skeleton would become one with the furniture and he would haunt this house forever, alongside the laundry lady and gerard. 

wait. gerard. maybe he can help. maybe frank has lost his mind. it’s worth a shot.

“gerard?” frank screamed as loud as he could. “hey dude, if you’re here, can you please help me? i’m stuck. and i think i’m gonna have to amputate my leg.”

he didn’t hear anything. that was really it. frank closed his eyes and waited for death to come.

“you really need to stop trying to get yourself killed every time you come here, chappie.”

a voice said, and frank felt actually relieved. he wasn’t gonna die, at least not today. 

“well, it seems to be the only way to get your attention. now, can you please help me?”

* * *

  
  


Gerard should’ve known he would feel better after eating. He could feel the new blood running through his veins like liquid fire, melting his stiff joints and making everything a little more bright and vivid. Maybe it was bad for him to space out his feeding days that much, but there was something about the feeling of being full after days of thirst that almost felt like being alive again. Almost. 

He didn’t quite like hunting, so he mostly stocked bags of blood he stole from hospitals — which usually made him feel like a monster, but honestly, how else was he supposed to live? — and when he felt like he was getting sick from all the old blood, he would find someone to drink just enough to keep him alive. Gerard doesn’t really kill anything to eat, at least, not anymore. 

The blood helped, but not too much. Gerard still had the smell of the boy’s blood hanging on the back of his throat, and his laughter replaying like an old phonograph on his ears. Every other detail slipped his mind, like the color of his eyes — were they black? Or was it just too dark for him to see it properly? —, or what in the hell he was holding, and that almost drove him mad. It’s been so long since he saw someone, not merely looked at them, but  _ saw  _ them, and still… he couldn’t remember. 

Laying there, in his bed, with blood tingling in his veins, he tried to paint in the details he didn’t catch. That’s what he does — daydreams when he’s asleep, daydreams when he’s awake, and tries his hardest not to feel so lonely and intangible. He overthinks every person and interaction and dissects every pretty thing he encounters until they get blurred around the edges, like a picture starting to fade. Gerard doubted the boy would ever come back, and, even if he did, he’d probably want nothing to do with him. Frank would be just another pretty thing in his miserable immortal life. 

At least that’s what he thought, until he heard someone screaming his name like a banshee. 

“How exactly  _ did _ you get yourself stuck under a shelf, Mr. Franklyn? I mean, you’re only half under it, but…” There was humor in Gerard’s voice as he crouched to examine the accident. 

Frank’s leg was stuck between the furniture and the floor, and he was bleeding quite a bit. Good thing his stomach was full, because he suspected he would need to touch the blood to get him out of there. 

“I was just trying to pick a book and the fucking thing fell! By itself! This house  _ hates  _ me.” 

“It is not the house’s fault if you’re nosy!” Gerard said, as he pushed the wood delicately out of Frank’s leg. “And I doubt you’d find anything interesting here, even if you found something that isn’t ruined.” 

Once the shelf was out of the way, Frank started to slowly get up. It was probably very painful, but it didn’t seem like he would die because of it. Gerard moved a bit to try and help him, feeling awfully bad for his house’s homicidal tendencies, but gave up halfway; he really didn’t want to seem rude and touch Frank without permission, as pure as his intentions were.

“What happened to this place? Do you really live here?” he asked, leaning a bit on the walls to keep balance. “I mean… I’m all for urban exploring and shit, but this place looks like hell and smells even worse.”

“It’s just abandoned. There’s no reason for me to keep the places I don’t use and…” He sighed. “It doesn’t smell that bad. It’s just old. And when the weather gets colder and the air gets dry it all looks really pretty. You need to see the backyard in october, the wind blows brown and orange leaves over everything and the sun coming through the holes in the roof makes everything seem golden. It just seems bad because of the summer.”

Frank was looking at him weird, like he was rambling — which he was —, or like he was crazy to live in a house with almost no insulation in the winter. Gerard didn’t really need heat, though. Not that Frank exactly knew that. 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t want to offend you.” Frank said, earnestly. “I just — hey, can you give me a hand? I’m afraid I’ll fall through if I keep putting weight on this wall.”

Gerard was suddenly very aware of himself, and what he was wearing, and that he wasn’t exactly  _ warm,  _ but tried his best to shove it all to the back of his mind. It’s been so long since the last time someone touched him voluntarily, he couldn’t overfixate in details like that. So he stretched his arm and Frank half held it, half fell into his chest — his face so close to Gerard’s he could smell the remains of smoke and peppermints on his breath, and it was so overwhelming he just couldn’t properly move for a second.

“I have no idea how I’m gonna go down the stairs.” He blurted, all the embarrassment Gerard was feeling mirrored in his voice. “Maybe I’ll just stay here forever and live with you.”

Gerard let out a sound that was midway into a desperate sigh and a laugh, and then just swiftly picked Frank up, like he weighed nothing, and took him downstairs.

“It’s not that I don’t find your company amusing, Mr. Franklyn” He laid the boy gently in one of the sheet covered sofas in the living room. “It’s just that, as you said, the house doesn’t seem to like you very much.”

“Why do you keep calling me Franklin?” He took his jacket off and started pressing it on the wounded leg. “And mister, at that. I’m only twenty.”

“Oh, my apologies. I just didn’t think you looked like a Francis.” 

“I am not! Please, it’s just Frank. Frank Iero.” 

The moonlight started coming in through the holes in the ceiling, and Gerard could finally see him properly. Very pale all along, with drawings covering his arms and fingers and neck in intricate black lines. His eyes were light gray, — maybe in the right light they’d look hazel or green, but Gerard would hardly have a chance to see it. — with red bags under them and long, pretty lashes. There was something in the way Frank was looking at him, like he knew a secret, or like he knew there was something wrong but really didn’t care.

Gerard looked away, afraid something inside him would break if he kept looking. “As you wish, Mr. Iero.” 

“Just Frank, I’m serious.” He smiled a little, all glowing eyes and corners of his mouth. His clothes were most definitely ruined, and he’d probably have to take something for infections, but that didn’t seem to bother him. 

“Right. Just Frank.” 

“And you’re just Gerard. Unless you’d rather I call you Mr. Way, but that’s kinda weird.”

Gerard laughed a little. “You say it like you’ll have to use it a lot.” 

“I mean, every time I’m referring to you, at least.” Frank gave up trying to mend his leg with the jacket and just let it fall on the dusty ground. Gerard couldn’t help but frown a little.

“So, are you expecting to come back? Have conversations?” The desperation in his voice was painfully apparent. 

“Maybe. I like to use your backyard to practice my moves.” Frank shrugged. “And, besides, you’re cool.”

He felt his heart shattering. The smell of blood suddenly disappeared and butterflies flooded his stomach and all he could do was smile. “Moves? You mean dancing?”

Frank laughed out loud. “No. I’ll show you, once my leg gets better.”

Gerard couldn’t wait. 


	3. alive

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is the chapter where most of the comments only said "gay" so... yeah. that's saying something.

The days seemed to last longer than ever, and Gerard didn’t know how to feel about it.

Maybe it was his fault, maybe the days seemed longer because he wasn’t using them to get proper sleep, choosing to mull around the house and wait for someone who really should stay away. Hell, he didn’t have any sense of self-preservation while alive, it hardly would start now. 

Being in his room was unbearable, almost suffocating. There were no windows there and, if Frank came by, he wouldn’t notice until something fell on him again, and that’d be a whole thing and it would probably lead to more days without him coming over and that’d just be awful. Gerard saw decades passing faster than those few days without Frank, and that was kind of pathetic.

He tried his best not to think about it, tried to brace himself for the inevitable conclusion that Frank would never come back and that was probably for the best. Both times he came by ended with him bleeding and Gerard having to drink an ungodly amount of his small supply of blood just to stop thinking about him and blood and his warm, smoky breath against his cheek. It has been _hell_ being inside his head lately, he would ramble and ramble to himself and try not to think of Frank until his mind failed and he got back to thinking about grey eyes and tattooed fingers — what _was_ written on his fingers? What did it _mean_? Would he be able to feel the traces if he touched it with his lips? —, and that was driving him crazy. Gerard wasn’t used to wanting things like that, to needing touch and company, to feeling like a person.

At first, he just walked around in circles and yearned for a boy he didn’t know, but dwelling in his own misery got boring fast and he started to see what Frank meant about the place looking like hell. It was so moldy and rotten and full of vegetation everywhere, and the walls all looked like the only thing keeping them together were the vines and the spiderwebs. The chandelier that, once, was his mum’s pride and joy, was hanging by a thread. Gerard spent a lot of time romanticizing that place, but he was born there, and it seemed poetic to see it growing old whilst he stayed the same; like the state of the house mirrored his own in some weird perversion of the Portrait of Dorian Gray. Some irrational part of his brain thought that if he were to change anything in the house, even if only for the sake of structural integrity, some part of him would start decaying in response. So he just kept it that way, unchanged for over a century.

He didn’t want Frank to get hurt again, or to miss a step and fall into the basement and God knows what lived there these days. By the second night, then, he started cleaning. 

It was _hard,_ Gerard never had to learn how to clean — being alive in the nineteenth century as a boy in a somewhat rich family, it wasn’t exactly a priority to him. And there wasn’t really anything he could use to clean with, nor tools to help him fix the holes or wood to cover the windows so he could walk around without getting ugly burns from sunlight. But he managed to stitch the curtains with the sheets into somewhat decent blinds and found out that the sofas and tables under them were mostly in one piece. His niece’s old phonograph rusted and broken, but maybe, if he found the tools she used to clean it, he could make it work again. He started to go out at night and steal all sorts of things from the small neighborhood around and, by the end of the week, the place was almost decent. It still looked somewhat like a haunted house and there wasn't anything he could do about the summer and the smell, but Frank would probably feel safer there now, if only a little bit.

He even rescued some volumes from the library, though there wasn’t anything he could do about the place as a whole. Gerard felt some sort of contentment, not exactly happiness, but a sense of peace and motivation he hadn’t felt in ages. And, even if he really wanted Frank to see the house, it almost felt like he’d be okay if the boy never came back.

You know, _almost._

* * *

  
  


frank spent the whole week — seven days, 168 hours and 10.080 minutes — trying to convince his mom that yes, his leg is fine, and yes, he can leave the house. didn’t work, so he spent one week playing videogames and watching old movies. now he’s an ace at tony hawk’s pro skater 2 and knows almost every single line from interview with the vampire. he also spent an awful lot of time sketching the mansion and its many rooms. but something felt empty. 

he missed the house. it was such a peaceful place, frank felt like he could be himself when no one was looking. oh, and also, he was curious about gerard. his grandma used to say curiosity killed the cat, and all things considered, frank was a nice name for a kitten. 

it doesn’t matter where he tried to search, he couldn’t find any registers of a “gerard way”. not on google, not even on mikey’s facebook list. it was like he never existed. the closest frank got was a weird guy called gerald way, who was arrested for attempting to murder his own daughter. the whole situation felt like a dead end.

when he wasn’t stalking every single person with similar names, frank was making a list of questions. how old is gerard? for how long has he lived on that house? why was it so messy? how did he stored food if there was no refrigerator in sight? does he have allergies to the sun? what’s his favorite holiday? 

the sun was bright, birds were singing, it was the middle of the afternoon and frank wanted to leave the house so bad. he wasn’t limping anymore, his leg was better than ever, so he came up with a plan. 

“mom, i’m going to the grocery store. want anything?”

“no, sweetie. take care of your leg, ok?” she said “and don’t even think of skating!” 

too late. 

it didn’t take him ten minutes to get to the mansion, which means he was basically flying. god was really watching over him or something like that, because he made it to the house in one piece.

upon entering, frank could tell something was different, but couldn’t quite put his finger on what exactly. 

“gerard? are you here? sorry, i know it took me quite some time to get back, but my leg was still injured and-” he didn’t had time to finish his sentence, as gerard appeared right behind him. he looked sleepy and his hair was messy, in a cute way. “sorry, did i wake you up?”

“no, don’t you worry about it. i have been waiting for you.”

“aww dude, that’s cute.” frank looked around. there was less mud and more visible rotten wood wall. “did you… clean the house?”

“yes. it is not ideal for you to get hurt every single time you come by. i even sorted out some books for you.” gerard said and frank felt touched.

“you didn’t have to!”

“i’m… sorry?” he wasn’t supposed to apologize for that. deep down, frank didn’t wanna be a burden to this one stranger he barely knew. “do you want me to pick the books?”

“we can go together, i just need to put my skate somewhere.” gerard’s face immediately went to frank’s hand. his eyes were wide open, just like a puppy.

“you have the wood, and the wheels, but where is the horse?”

“horse?”

“yes, to pull you.” he was serious and frank couldn’t help but laugh. 

“oh, no. your body gives it weight and you propel yourself further with your feet.” frank said, demonstrating how it’s done. 

“so, you are the horse?”

“yeah, we can work with that. i guess.”

gerard led the way to the living room, where frank could see a pile of old books resting on the piano. they were still moldy and dusty, but he was glad to be able to touch them without literally getting crushed by old furniture. the paper’s dated back to the 1700s and 1800s, it was a miracle frank could read any of them. not like he understood a single word, but points for trying. he could feel gerard watching, but it wasn’t bothering him. 

the sun was setting and they were still sitting on hard wood, with open books by their side. frank wandered off. if gerard really lives by himself here, he can’t even begin to imagine how lonely he must feel. 

“so… do you want to, maybe, show me your… moves?” gerard asked, shyly. 

“thought you never ask!” he winked at gerard and got up, his still-a-little-injured leg feeling a little weak from all the time he spent sitting down. 

on the graveyard, frank felt so… alive. which is really ironic and kinda inappropriate, if you think about it. but man, he missed it so much. skating is really therapeutic to him, even being bad at it can’t keep him down. 

he could see gerard watching him from the window and tried so hard to ace this ollie so he could impress the pretty stranger. frank fell a few times, but wasn’t really caring about it. he felt good. he was just being himself. he doesn’t need to be good at something to enjoy doing it, honestly. frank was just happy to be there, with gerard.

and he looked again, gerard was smiling. his eyes were tiny and his cheeks were so squishable, frank lost his balance.

it was _the most beautiful_ smile he has ever seen. 


	4. hey moon (forget to fall down)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> canoodles

They spent the rest of the night in the cemetery, Gerard absentmindedly picking dandelions from in between the gravestones and Frank trying his best to land an ollie, both secretly wishing the moon would forget to fall down and that night, somehow, lasted only a bit longer. Gerard excused himself just as the sun started coming up, and Frank just ran off, probably to get lectured by his mom on why you don’t just say you’re going to the supermarket and then vanishes for almost twelve hours. There was no promise he’d come back this time, but Gerard didn’t really need it. 

A week with Frank went through just as fast as a day without him, full of weird conversations and Gerard desperately trying to sound like he got out of the house in the last century and that the things Frank told him didn’t amaze nor scare him. Gerard slept very little these days, choosing to wake up just after midday to work on the house before Frank got there at sundown, then they’d spend the night talking, usually in the cemetery, but sometimes inside, or on the rooftops. Sometimes Frank would try working on the garden, just to give up halfway through and sit on his skate to have a cigarette. Other times, he’d make Gerard try some moves on the skate, and then get really angry when Gerard refused to actually  _ move  _ once he was on top of the thing. Gerard was always the first to say goodbye, but would always wait outside until Frank’s silhouette disappeared between the trees, or the sunlight started getting unbearable.

The truth is, Gerard was getting sloppy. He tried his best to stay in places of the house the sun didn’t hit as hard, but would always end up full of ugly sunburns covered by dirty cloths or his even dirtier clothes. Sunburns didn’t heal as fast as other wounds, and they hurt like nothing else. His supply of blood was almost nonexistent by the end of the week, between him having to drink to heal and not really having a chance to go out and get more, and he was running dangerously low on things to wear. He was starting to think he’d have to sleep for a couple years and suck a few people dry to go back to shape once the house was finished. 

But it was fun, you know? To have company, and motivation. And Frank was fun to talk to, with all of his weird references and pretty eyes and cool tattoos — even if Gerard felt lost most of the time, having him around made everything brighter. 

Frank would bring food and try sharing it with Gerard, who mostly refused it; he didn’t know what effects solid food would have in his stomach and puking blood in the boy he fancied was the last thing he wanted. But he’d drink a little of everything Frank brought, just to be polite, even if he hated it.

One time, whilst trying to suck soda out of a paper straw, he spilled the whole thing on himself and ruined the only clean-ish shirt he had. Frank laughed so hard he had a coughing fit, and then laughed a bit more, and then took his jacket off — he called it  _ hoodie —  _ and gave it to Gerard. 

“Here, man.” he said, still laughing a little, his eyes burning. “You have to take it off, or you’re gonna get sticky and full of ants.” 

Gerard didn’t want to take his clothes off in front of Frank. He was so very white all around, and pale, and honestly a little fat, and being naked around anyone would make him anxious but he was so  _ sure  _ Frank was pretty under his clothes and that he must’ve seen so many pretty people and he was  _ still  _ stuck with a nineteenth century mindset but… 

But it was Frank’s shirt, and it would smell like him, and Gerard already was feeling sticky from the sugar. 

“Turn around, please.” he asked, sheepishly. Frank was starting to protest, but Gerard cut him off. “Frankie…”

“Fine.” Frank sighed. “But I don’t see the problem.”

Gerard made sure Frank had his back to him before he turned himself. The fabric felt soft and warm between his fingers, and he could feel every single thread on his arms and chest. It did smell like Frank, and that made his heart ache. 

“Thank you, Frankie, it feels very nice…” He turned around to see Frank facing him, his face beet red, hands on the pocked. And his eyes the size of the moon. 

frank never thought about gerard using his clothes until that very moment. 

weirdly, it suited him. 

the hoodie was black and had a big “revenge” written in red, which made gerard’s skin look even more pale. as if it was possible.

“gee, may i ask you something?” he asked, gerard nodded yes. “do you have any allergies to the sun?”

“...what?” his face was astonished, it almost looked like gerard wanted to laugh. 

“you never leave the house, dude! and, no offense, but you’re as pale as a paper sheet.”

“you wouldn’t understand, frankie.” he said, shyly. 

“try me.”

they were both staring each other, gerard visibly nervous and frank smirking, because he just knew gerard didn’t have any plausible reason. 

“i just don’t see a reason to go out most of the time. i have everything i need right here.”

“this is bullshit, gee. there is so much stuff to see and do! man, there’s the skate park, and fast-food chains, thrift stores… the arcade! you would love the arcade. and also the comic store, i’m sure.”

“see?” he laughed. “i knew you wouldn’t understand.”

they became awkwardly silent. 

gerard was facing the floor, his fists closed around the hoodie’s sleeve holes. his feet facing each other, like a little kid who just stopped crying. he looked cute. 

“so… let’s say, if i, hypothetically, ask you you to go out with me. would you say yes?”

gerard choked. he was grasping for air and frank thought he’d broken him.

“but... where to?”

“i don’t know! there’s a lot of places we can go, and i’ll bring you back safe and sound, don’t worry.”

gerard smiled.

“well, i will give it a fair thought.”


	5. frank's search history

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> he's gay and so are we

frank's been searching for quite some time about gerard. he still has no idea of what the fuck is going on with the boy, but he sure knows something's not right.

his search basically consists of

_"are ghosts real"_

_"how to date a 19th century boy when you're also a boy"_

_"cool vintage places near me"_

_"buzzfeed unsolved the way mansion"_

_"is it possible to kiss ghosts"_

_"seance"_

_"i think im in love with a ghost"_

_"is dating a ghost tecnically necrophilia"_

_"diy presents for 200 year olds"_

_"mediums near me"_

_"ouija board"_

_"reddit slash relationship advice"_

none of those gave him the answers he desired.

but giving up isn't an option.


	6. compromise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> oh to ne compromising with the loml who's also dead

frank had to step off of his new routine to spend a day with mikey.

his friend has been messaging him for days now, saying frank doesn’t care about him and now he has no one to play with. which is not true. frank cares about his friends, he just has a lot going on right now. 

but, since he needs to be a good friend and spend some quality time with mikey, he might as well keep searching for clues about gerard. they share a surname and a family, as far as frank’s concerned. maybe his friend can help figure out what’s happening. 

mikey wasn’t at home, but he’s known for being bad with time. donna told frank to just hang out inside the house and wait.

“you’re at home, sweetie. suit yourself.” so he did.

the ways have an awesome photo wall down the hallway and this was frank’s best shot at looking for gerard. the pictures were old, but not that old. frank could see mikey’s grandparents on their wedding day, and also his parents. there was even a spot for mikey’s own wedding picture, as if he’ll ever settle down. tons of family vacation memories, like beach trips, disneyland official photos and cards, mikey naked as a baby… this one he’ll have to show mikey’s partner if he ever settles down. 

and that was it. three generations (four, at best) and nothing about gerard. maybe they have an old family album. or maybe it is a dead end. frank was so caught up on his own thoughts, he didn’t notice mikey coming behind him.

“what are you doing?” he asked, and frank was unable to see anything for five seconds. 

“michael! don’t do that, you bastard.” mikey shrugged. “i was waiting for you.”

“yeah, like i believe it.”

they raided the kitchen for snacks and energy drinks, because the plan was to spend as many hours as possible playing videogames. just bros being bros.

frank wasn’t really paying attention, he was still zoning out, daydreaming about this one particular man. mikey was telling him about some chick he kissed and then he wanted a second date but she said “no, you just proved me i don’t really like boys” and he was happy for her but sad at the same time. or something like that.

“ok, frank. what’s going on?”

“what?” he got out of his trance.

“i just asked you that.”

“it’s nothing mikey.”

mikey laughed. “oh, please. i know you better than that. this might work with your mom, but i’m not buying it.”

he’s right, and frank knows it. but that’s just too much.

“you’re gonna think i lost it.”

“can’t lose what you never had.”

“ok, fine”. frank took a deep breath. “just promise me you will let me explain everything first.”

“pinky promise.”

“i met someone.”

mikey couldn’t stop laughing. tears were rolling down his cheeks, like this was some sort of joke.

“i’m not finised, mikey. you know your great-great-great-uncle gerard?”

“yeah, what about him?” oh boy…

“well, so. i met this guy on that weird abandoned house we always thought of raiding when we were kids. you know how i use the old graveyard to practice my tricks, right? yeah. but this… guy. he’s old, mikey. and i don’t mean appearance-wise. he’s two hundred or something. from another century.” 

mikey’s expression instantly shifted, like he saw a ghost or just something really traumatizing. 

“go on.”

“i think it’s gerard. i mean, i know his name is also gerard way, but i think it is  _ your _ gerard.” 

“this isn’t funny, frank.” his hands were on his temples, and frank could tell mikey was trying so hard not to snap on him. “you know what happened to him. you, of all people, shouldn’t be joking about this.”

“what- no, mikey! i’m not joking, i swear! i would never say something like that just for some laughs.”

“oh, so you’re in love with a ghost, then?”

“i don’t know! i don’t know what he is!”

mikey sneered, walking from one corner to the other, murmuring something. probably cursing the next eight generations of ieros. 

“i think you should leave.”

“mikey, please. i know it’s weird but-”

“it’s not weird, frank. it’s impossible.”

“come with me tomorrow. i’ll show you what i’m talking about. please.”

he didn’t know if mikey would take the offer, but it’s worth to try. he didn’t mean to make his best friend so mad, but he also deserves to know something like this is happening. 

or maybe frank has really lost it. 

  
  
  


There’s a very particular difference between the things you don’t know and the things you’ve forgotten — Gerard caught himself thinking about them very often nowadays. Especially when he dreams of hazel eyes and lying on the overgrown grass, and the sunlight doesn’t feel quite real to him. Like the memory of warmth is ingrained somewhere deep in his psyche, and as much as he wants to enjoy it, his brain reminds him it’s not the same thing. Nothing his brain can create will ever equate to the real feeling of lazy summer afternoons, when the sun is so hot you can barely move, but you still can’t make yourself get up and search for a shadow. That makes him wonder incessantly about all the things he doesn’t know, and if they’re also so far removed from the things his unconscious mind can muster. 

It’s been a long time now since Gerard’s reveries changed from blood and the spaces between stars to summer rains and kisses that tasted like smoke. Sometimes, he could barely tell if he was awake or not.

“Mikey’s pissed at me because I asked about you.” Frank’s voice sounded so distant… He had to blink a few times to get back to himself.

“I’m sorry to hear that. But you should present any inquiries about myself to, well, myself.” 

Gerard didn’t like to see Frank like that, so restless, anxious. It ruined completely the image he had from a snarky, wide-eyed boy with his skateboards and tattooed fingers. He liked even less to think that he was, somehow, removing him from his usual life — it was summer, after all, and Frank had just so many opportunities to enjoy things before it got too cold to exist properly. Opportunities to which Gerard wouldn’t be able to accompany him. 

“It’s not like you’d tell me.” he sighed. Frank had brought a guitar with him, just as he had for the last few days, but didn’t really play anything. It’s been like that for a while, things just weren’t the same. Gerard had no idea on what to do about it. “Not the truth, at least.”

He assumed the sudden mistrust had something to do with Frank’s questions about music. What was Gerard’s favorite album? What was his favorite song? Did he like the Beatles better than the Beastie Boys? Was he more of a new wave guy or did he like more grungy stuff? Gerard would absentmindedly choose one or the other, and give Frank some vague and uncompromising response to the more open questions. That was a mistake, obviously — music seemed to be a big deal for Frank Anthony Iero.

“Why don’t you try me?”

The skate was long forgotten, resting against the wall. Gerard tried to focus on it, too scared to confront Frank’s eyes. He knew music, but not in the way Frank knew it; Gerard knew music as pretty white dresses twirling around golden lights and the smell of perfume and rice powder coming from his older sister whilst they danced around his mom’s living room. Frank knew it as loud guitars, and pouring one’s heart out into a microphone, he knew music as  _ music,  _ and not as a part of something else. And this fell into Gerard’s head in some exquisite middle ground; something he didn’t know, and something he had forgotten, at the same time. It didn’t seem quite possible, but nonetheless, that’s how it felt.

The last thing he wanted was to hurt Frank any further, so he was treading lightly, only touching on the edges of every conversation they had, afraid to disturb him with his insensibilities. With all the things he had forgotten.

“How old are you, after all?  _ What  _ are you? Why did Mikey freak out when I asked about you? And why are you suddenly acting so aloof?”

“Frankie, I... I don’t know how to answer most of it. I don’t know what you want me to say. Maybe I’m just another ghost in another haunted house — maybe I am the haunted house. Maybe I’m a graveyard of memories, or a walking corpse, stuck in a time long gone. I don’t know anymore, I can’t remember.” It’s raining now. It slips through the holes in the ceiling and drips through the old chandelier. Gerard can’t remember most things, but he remembers the laughter echoing through the very same hallways on other rainy nights, and himself, with his mother’s linens over his head, chasing after his sister. “And I’m sorry if I tried to pretend otherwise. It has been a long time since I wanted to be close to anyone, and the thought of you leaving forever was too unbearable. Though I will understand if you’d rather leave.”

There were rooms in the house Gerard refused to enter, even whilst in the process of reforming it all. He would see the faintest silhouette of a young girl, picking flowers in the garden, or folding fresh laundry on the kitchen table, like an imprint of something from another time; things he still wasn’t ready to confront. The same thing happened in his memories, there were places in his head he wasn’t ready to go, things he’d rather not remember. Like loss, or rejection. Things he pretended to not know.

“I don’t care if you’re dead, dude, I…” Frank dropped on the ground. “I’m just tired of coming to you every time. I come here everyday, I have to carry out the conversations, and you’re always avoiding topics or straight up lying. And now my friends think I’m some sort of psychopath that thrives in digging up old family trauma.”

Gerard readies himself for the blow. He knows the only logical conclusion, that Frank’s going to break up their very brief, very platonic relationship. And he knows he will survive it, even if he’d rather not.

“I just wish you could meet me in the middle.” he finishes. “Like, it be so cool if I could take you buying some clothes that don’t smell like rot, or if you’d come to my house so I can play you my dad’s old records, or if you told me about whatever you did when you were alive so I can get into it and we can talk properly about things. I can’t keep coming to you if you’re not willing to make concessions. Ghost or not.”

That caught him off guard. He just stared at Frank for a minute, feeling his heart swell up and double in size.

“So, are you willing? Will ya meet me in the middle?”

Gerard shakes his head, positively. 

“Good. Now, come on,” Frank drags his guitar to his lap, smiling. “let me show you what good music sounds like.”


	7. habits of decomposing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a lot of angst, a lot of therapy threats

small towns certainly have it’s perks.

frank was born in a pretty normal city, with not a lot of interesting stuff going on. that is, besides the weirdly trade market full of edgy thrift stores that only work from dusk till dawn. considering he had an unknown supernatural creature who can’t stand the sun with him, this was just perfect. 

it was a promising night, and frank was fairly lively. the sky was full of stars, but clouds masked up their shine. gerard was still asleep when frank arrived at the mansion, and he couldn’t hide his excitement. 

“gerard, wake up” he said softly “we gotta go, buddy. we need to find you some clothes.”

“what are you-” gerard opened his eyes and frank was jumping all over the place, collecting old clothes and juggling them to the side. he’d fight the laundry ghost if he could. 

“come on, we leave in ten.”

it was the first time in many, many years gerard left the house. frank could gather he was scared. he thought that maybe holding his hand could make it easier for gerard and show that frank  _ was there _ and wouldn’t leave him alone, so he did. gerard didn’t pull their hands apart. 

“are you certain this is ok?”

“don’t worry, g. it’s fine. no one’s gonna have a problem with you.”

there was no one at the store when they arrived, which was great. gerard wouldn’t feel ashamed or anything like that. the place smelled like old clothes and dust, but they hang out at an abandoned mansion, so it’s no big deal. 

the first piece gerard went to try on was a simple band t-shirt. it looked good on him.

“you look rad.”

he also wanted to try weird hats, for some reason. he settled for a beret, saying something about how he used to wear stuff like these when he was a child with tiny little suspenders and socks on his knees.

“is this rad?”

“yeah, gee. but let me pick stuff for now.”

not to brag, but frank had his way to find the best pieces of clothing on thrift stores. what can he say, it’s a gift he was born with! no one can top that. checkered shirts, flannels, skinny jeans, ripped denim, faux leather… he was full of ideas. and gerard didn’t whine too much, surprisingly. he was excited to see frank being such a dork. 

“i don’t think i am able to fit inside those trousers.” gerard said, from the fitting room. 

“don’t make me go in there and force you to fit.” frank answered. 

gerard came out to show him, and frank was mesmerized. tight stuff really values his body, and gerard has a cute ass. 

“what do you think?”

“you look hot.” gerard laughed a little, clearly embarrassed “is it everything?”

“yes. we can go after i take it off.”

he spent all his money buying those clothes, but it was worth it. gerard wanted to pay, but frank doubted he had any actual money on him. 

“no biggie, g. it’s alright. who needs money anyway, am i right?”

“you, apparently. you should not have bought everything, frank.”

“you barely know how capitalism works, dude! don’t worry!” 

it was almost midnight and they were heading back to gerard’s place so frank can teach him how to wash, dry and fold his new attire when they noticed someone staring their backs. 

“i think someone’s following us.” his voice was trembling. it was the first time in two hundred years gerard left that house and no one would traumatize him. 

“no shit.” frank was small, but he could bite. he was ready to shout very dirty words, but when he turned around just to see mikey with some random guy down the street, his heart sank. “let’s go, gee. it’s nothing to worry about.”

he held gerard’s hand again, increasing their pace. if mikey wanted to be subtle, he was failing hard. it was obvious he was going after them, and frank didn’t really know what to do. 

“frank, wait!” he didn’t wanna give in and have that conversation right there, but gerard suddenly stopped. he couldn’t move and frank couldn’t force him to. 

“you said no one was gonna have a problem with me.”

“gerard, it’s not what it seems. i promise.”

“this man has been following us since we left the store and somehow he knows your name. i don’t want you to get hurt because of me, frank.”

“g, no one’s getting hurt.” frank sighed, “i’m gonna fix this. stay here.”

mikey was just around the corner, getting closer by the second. 

“we already saw you, mikey. what do you want.” gerard was place right behind frank, on a failed attempt to hide. 

“since when you have to run away from me?”

“i don’t know. i guess since you decided that stalking your friend in the middle of the night is something nice to be done.”

“well, i wouldn’t have to do that if you weren’t acting so strange lately.”

he took a great look at gerard, analysing everything.

“you- you look just like my grandma.  _ who are you _ ?” 

  
  


Gerard was, to put mildly, very uncomfortable. 

He hid his fists inside his sleeves, because the face Michael made when Frank touched his hand scared him to death. For christ’s sake, Gerard was a centuries-old vampire. A big boy with big boy fangs who  _ killed  _ people before, and there he was, too scared to look a ninety-pound teenage boy in the eyes. The restaurant was almost empty, only the three of them and an old lady sipping tea on the counter, and a very annoyed middle-aged waitress. Gerard could smell every one of them very distinctively, and that was just not helping.

Michael was staring at him from the other side of the booth, familiar eyes behind thick glasses and a very dirty bang. “Is this Frank’s?” he asks, pointing at Gerard’s chest. “He never lets  _ me  _ borrow his clothes.”

“Can you not? Just this once?” Frank answers before Gerard has the chance to open his mouth. “You’re scaring him.”

“I apologize if this is inappropriate, it was the only thing I had that was clean.” Everything gets very quiet for a moment, not a car passing outside, not even the slurping sound from the lady on the counter, absolute silence. Frank plopped his head in his hands.

“He’s just being an ass, Gee, don’t worry.” The waitress is staring at them now, probably wondering if they’ll order anything. Gerard would very much like a hot cup of blood right about now,— his eating habits were getting exponentially worse since Frank started to spend more time with him, and it has been days since the last time he ate even a little. — but he doubted they would serve anything like that there. “And if you wanna order something, go ahead, I don’t want anything.”

“Do you not want anything or are you broke again?” Mikey eyed him, calling for the waitress. “I'll pay for your sorry ass even if you are running from me and dating a homeless man.”

“I am not homeless!”

“You were creeping on us on a fucking alley in the middle of the night, of course I ran away!” The waitress brought three mugs with her, and filled all of them with coffee. “If you’re paying, I’ll have a veggie burger with fries.” 

“Make that two, please,” Mikey says to the lady. “Do ya want something? You look like you're starving.”

Gerard just shook his head, looking longingly at his coffee, wishing he could drown in it. He is hungry, and he is embarrassed. “I’m not homeless.” he repeats, quietly.

The waitress smiles kindly at him, — he registers the name in her tag,  _ Agnes, —  _ and turns her back to them. Frank drinks his coffee in one big gulp, then signals to Gerard’s, knowing he won’t drink it.

“You don’t actually live in the old mansion, do you?” Gerard can only shrug at that, using his wrist to slide his coffee in Frank’s general direction. He grabs the mug, and then he grabs Gerard’s wrist, and he can feel the warmth of his fingers through the fabric. That’s enough to calm Gerard down. “Mom says it’s full of asbestos and black mold.”

“Yeah, and also bats and ghosts,” Frank says. “But it’s very cool, Mikeyway, and not dangerous at all.”

“Look, dude, if you’re really a Way, and you need someplace to stay… I know how our family can be, so if you’re in trouble with your mom or something, you can talk to mine. She’s cool and she’ll help you, but please stop pretending you’re Gerard. You know how disrespectful that is.” Mikey says. He sounds really worried, and that makes it all worse. The last he heard of his family was Mikey’s birth and his dad’s death, and seeing him like that, suspicious and angry, touched something very old inside his chest.

“I wouldn’t pretend to be Gerard. And I am sorry to be monopolizing your friend’s time lately.” He sighs, and stands up. “I would like to be left alone now, Frank, as much as I appreciate everything you did to me in the last few weeks. I apologize for the inconvenience.”

“Don’t be stupid, Gerard, just tell him who you are and we can be done with this.” Frank pleads, but it's too late. Gerard just runs away, not worrying about scaring the old lady or the waitress; in a second he's there, the other he isn’t. 

Frank sighs, and looks at his wristwatch: there are still about two hours left until sunrise. It shouldn’t feel so wrong to spend them without Gerard. 


End file.
